


Things left unsaid

by Saffiaan



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace (TV 2016)
Genre: Andrasha, Canonical Character Death, Danatole, F/M, Fedya and Andrey don't have the best relationship, Fedyelene (if you squint), Jealousy, M/M, Neither do Fedya and Anatole, Regret, Super light NSFW (It's barely there)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-25 23:30:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14987915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saffiaan/pseuds/Saffiaan
Summary: Having Andrey as your lover isn't all fun and games, but at least there is Anatole, right? (Or, alternatively, the world just really hates Fedya.)





	Things left unsaid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aeron Pistachio](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Aeron+Pistachio).



> I apologize in advance.

Fedya knew he didn’t have a claim to Andrey. Not just because society would never allow such a thing, but also because, very simply put, there were no reasons for Fedya to lay any claim on the prince. They’d had a few good evenings, more than a few better nights and a small set of beautiful mornings. Beautiful memories. Even the evenings abroad, near a campfire with the cold clinging to their bones and the stench of smoke, blood and death still in the air. Even those evenings were good memories for Fedya. Not enough to lay a claim. But more than Natasha had. Young, beautiful, _stupid_ Natasha, who was going to prevent more memories from being created.

The letter had come in the early morning. Announcing an engagement, inviting Fedya to the ball that would be held in celebration. He had half a mind to rip the letter in half and throw it in the fire. Eventually he decided against that, but he did grab his coat and made his way to the closest bar. Sadly, getting drunk wasn’t nearly as satisfying as ripping and burning letters. Not only that, but it was also the reason Fedya was somewhat late to the ball. Though maybe the alcohol was the only reason he had decided to come. It must have been, as he regretted the decision as soon as he set foot in the room. 

Fedya was engulfed by colours, scents and sounds. An orchestra was playing on one end of the room, couples were dancing in the middle. Dresses in all possible colours and materials were flowing and swirling. Boots were polished and clicked against the floor, seeming to add to the music. A dozen different perfumes mixed with the smell of wine. It was a beautiful ordeal and Fedya absolutely _hated_ every bit of it.

It took barely half an hour for Fedya to be absolutely done with it all. He had only caught glimpses of Andrey and seen more than he had wanted to of Natasha. The situation had been doable for the few minutes in which Fedya had talked with Hélène. But sadly, that conversation hadn’t lasted long, as Pierre was attending too. In fact, Fedya was just about to leave when someone ticked him on the shoulder. He turned around and stared right back into two familiar blue eyes. Of course. Anatole Kuragin. And if Fedya’s nose didn’t fail him, the prince was drunk too. Fedya’s lips turned up in a smirk. Perfect. 

There were even more drinks. There were hands roaming free. An unsteady walk to Fedya’s house. Hands roaming even more freely. Kisses on bare skin. Teeth on bare skin. Bare skin on bare skin. There was the creaking of a bed, drowned out by loud moans and cries of pleasure. Then there was soft panting. Sweat clinging to bodies. Sheets twisted in legs. The caressing of skin. A drunken sleep.

 

~●◦●◦●◦●~

 

When Anatole asked Fedya to help him arrange an elopement with Natasha, Fedya barely hesitated before agreeing. After all, why shouldn’t he agree? Because his former lover would get hurt? No. Fedya had thrown away the thought before it could have properly settled in his mind. Honestly, his main concern was the fact that his current semi-frequent lover was committing more than one crime. But well, it wasn’t like either Fedya or Anatole had never committed a crime before. What was an elopement to top it off? And well, if a girl got ruined in the progress, who cared? And if Andrey did get hurt in the progress? Maybe that was for the best. After all, he deserved it, didn’t he? That’s what Fedya told himself anyway, on those moments when something that was vaguely like guilt tugged at his mind.

Of course it all blew up to create a gigantic mess. But maybe that had been for the best too. Fedya didn’t know what he would have done if Anatole _had_ managed to run of to Poland. Not that Petersburg was better, but at least it was the same country.

 

~●◦●◦●◦●~

 

Moscow was burning.

Moscow was burning and Hélène was dead.

Moscow was burning and the battle of Borodino had happened. There had been screams, a leg cut of and then the night. The night that had seemed to stretch into infinity. But when morning came, the screams stopped. So did the panting and the sobbing. Anatole Kuragin had died and Fyodor Dolokhov was alone once again.

 

~●◦●◦●◦●~

 

Fedya didn’t know how Natasha knew to write him about Andrey. Fedya also didn’t know how to feel about the whole situation. Yes, Andrey was dying and that was… not good. But did Fedya care? _Should_ he even care? After all, Andrey had made quite clear he didn’t want Fedya anymore. But then the question remained. How did Natasha know to write him? And there really was only one answer and Fedya wasn’t stupid enough to not see it. He also wasn’t cruel enough to deny a dying man a visit. Besides, it wasn’t like Fedya had anything left to lose. Nothing more that Andrey could strip away from him.

 So, with a reluctance that felt more forced than natural, Fedya went to visit the one man he had ever thought he could have loved. Maybe. If there had been enough time. But there hadn’t been and there was no point dwelling on the past.

 When Fedya stepped into the room, it wasn’t at all like he had expected it to be. It wasn’t dark and smelly. On the contrary, it was bright and almost cheerful. Sunlight poured in through the windows, one of which had been opened to let in fresh air. And it felt horribly wrong.

 Andrey, too, wasn’t as Fedya had expected, though he didn’t know exactly what he had expected. The prince was very obviously on his deathbed. It was not only clear in his appearances, but more so in the way he talked. Andrey had always managed to talk a lot without saying too little. However, it seemed now that, if the amount he talked could be considered much, he didn’t say that much at all. It was jarring. Almost as jarring as the look of the room or Andrey himself, who looked more fragile than Fedya had ever seen him before and somehow still did not look weak. It was almost as jarring as how easily they both avoided that one subject they should talk about.

 But when Fedya finally left, they still hadn’t mentioned it. And it hadn’t felt wrong at the time. It had felt eerily natural. Some things should just remain unsaid, shouldn’t they? Buried safely beneath the ground.

 

~●◦●◦●◦●~

 

When the letter came informing Fedya of Andrey’s death, he wasn’t surprised. In fact, he didn’t feel anything at all for the entire morning. But as the sun began to climb up the sky, the harsh reality began sinking in. Even though Fedya had barely had contact with Andrey in the last few years, there had always been the strange reassurance the man was alive. Alive and happy and well, even if that was without Fedya. Now, however, that was gone too.

The sand was blown away by a whirlwind of emotions and Fedya’s feet just began to move. He didn’t know where and he couldn’t claim to care either. It wasn’t until he was in a field, somewhere under the blue sky, that he stopped. He didn’t know how long he had walked for. He didn’t know how long the tears had been running down his face. All he knew was that they were still there as he looked up at the sky. It seemed to stare back at him, demanding an answer, demanding an explanation. Whatever calming thing Andrey had once seen in the sky, Fedya couldn’t find it. All he could see was all those things that were left unsaid now that the sand had cleared away.

The ground hit his knees and send tremors through his entire body, which had been shaking anyway. A quiet whisper left his mouth.

“I love you.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> ....  
>  Sorry?  
> Let me know what you think! Or yell at me! Or come ask for a stuffed unicorn to make everything better! Whatever you want.
> 
> Aeron is basically the person who made me fall in love with Andrey and Fedrey.... So this one is for them!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The storm and the sky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15069530) by [ofdaffodilsandmoonlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofdaffodilsandmoonlight/pseuds/ofdaffodilsandmoonlight)




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